Two days later Hemlock was one of a group standing on the north bank of
the river, where it broke into a short rapid, named from the settler
whose shanty overlooked it, Morrison’s rapid. The group included
representatives of the different corps that had been gathered together,
with several settlers. They were watching, in the fading twilight, a
thin line of moving red, emerging from the bush. It was a battalion
of the Canadian Fencibles that had come from Kingston to reinforce
deWatteville. The newcomers were soon among them, brawny Highlanders
from Glengarry, French Canadian lumbermen, and a number of farmers
from the English settlements in the east. They were greeted with the
earnestness men in peril welcome help, and assistance was given in
preparing such food as was available, while many sought rest after
their exhausting journey in the outbuildings of Morrison and in the
sheds that had been prepared for them. Their commander, Col. Macdonell,
a thin, wiry man, with a fair complexion that gave him the name of
Macdonell the Red, having seen his men disposed of, moved to the house.
At the door Morrison, himself a Highlander, bade his guest welcome in
the purest of Argyllshire Gaelic, and produced his bottle. After the
glass had passed round, Macdonell said, “We have come far to have a
tilt with the Yankees: will we be sure to meet them?”
“That you will,” answered Morrison, “they are within four miles of you
and will pay us a visit, maybe, the morn.”
“Ha! That news does me more good than your dram. When there is fighting
to be done, a Highlandman’s blood runs faster. Get us some supper
ready, and while we wait I’ll find out what has been done. Is there
none of the General’s staff here?”
“Not an officer: they are all busy at the making of barricades; but
here is an Indian with a longer head than any of them, and who can
speak good English, which, however, is not to be compared with our
mother-language.”
Resuming the use of the despised tongue--for he scorned to give English
the name of language--Morrison introduced Hemlock, and drawing him to a
corner of the hearth, Macdonell plied him with questions. The Indian,
using the ramrod of his musket, drew a plan of the country in the ashes
at their feet, explaining how the Americans were encamped a few miles
farther up the river and that to get to Montreal they must go down the
road that followed its north bank. To prevent him, General deWatteville
had caused the numerous gullies of creeks where they emptied into the
Chateaugay, to be protected by breastworks of fallen trees, behind
which the British would contest their advance. Six of these gullies had
been so prepared. In rear of them, was the main line of defence, placed
where the ground was favorable, and strengthened by breastworks and two
small cannon.
“Aye, aye!” exclaimed Macdonell, “all very well if the Americans keep
to the road: but what are we to do should they try to flank us?”
The Indian’s face darkened as he whispered, “deWatteville is a good man
but he is an Old World soldier who knows nothing about bush-fighting.
He would not believe me, when I told them there were bush-whackers in
the Yankee army who could march to his rear through the woods.”
“That they could!” agreed the Colonel, “and where would he be then? And
what good would his six lines of barricades be? My own lads today came
over ground where regulars would have been bogged. Then the river can
be forded opposite this house. Could the Yankees get to this ford?”
Hemlock said they could, when Macdonell answered he would see to it
that preparations were made to checkmate such a move. Finding Hemlock
acute and thoroughly acquainted with the field of operations, the
Highlander’s heart warmed to him as one of like soldierly instincts
as his own. Uncontaminated by the prejudice of race common to old
residents, he had no feeling against the red-men, and when supper was
ready he insisted on Hemlock’s sitting beside him, and in treating him
as his equal. As the evening wore on, officers from the neighboring
encampments dropped in to exchange greetings with the new-comers, and
an orderly brought instructions from the General. When Hemlock left to
join his band in their vigils along the enemy’s lines, he felt he had
not passed so happy an evening for a dozen of years.
The night passed quietly and in the morning the enemy showed no
disposition to move, so that the preparations for their reception
went on, and the troops worked all day, the woods re-echoing the
sound of their axes as they felled trees to roll into heaps to form
rude breastworks. In the afternoon General de Watteville rode up
and carefully inspected all that had been done, and returned to his
quarters satisfied, and altogether unwitting that the attack was to be
made from another direction in a few hours.
The day had been cloudy, cheerless, and cold, and as it faded, rain
began to fall. The men sought such cover and warmth as they could find
and the officers assembled to spend the night in carousing. So raw,
dark, and uninviting was it that not one in the British camp supposed
the enemy would be astir. But they were. At sunset, 1500 men left the
American camp, marched down to the river, forded the rapids, and began
their march down the south bank with the intent of capturing the ford
at Morrison’s at daylight.
Next morning, the eventful 26th October, 1813, the Forsyths,
unsuspicious of what was passing under the woods around them, were at
breakfast, when the door was dashed in and Hemlock appeared, dripping
wet. “I want a messenger to go to Macdonell to tell him the Americans
are on their way to him,” he shouted.
“Confound them,” exclaimed Forsyth, “I’ll gang at ance.”
“An’ leave us twa women bodies oor lane?” complained his wife, “No, no,
you maun bide, an’ proteck us.”
Hemlock was disconcerted. “Maggie,” he appealed, “won’t you go? Take
the canoe and you will be at the ford in a few minutes.”
“Yes,” she responded, with quiet decision, “and what am I to say?”
“Tell the Colonel that the Americans in strength are marching through
the woods on this side of the river, intending to surprise him and
capture his position. Their advance will be on him in half an hour. Say
to him, to send over men to meet them and I will join with my band. I
go to watch them.” Without another word, he left and rushed back into
the forest.
Maggie stepped lightly to where the canoe was moored, loosened the
rope, and paddled down the river with all the strength she had. When
it struck the bank at Morrison’s she was glad to see so many astir
and hastened to the door. “You, Maggie, at this early hour,” cried Mrs
Morrison, “naething wrang I hope?”
“I must see the Colonel,” she said, catching for breath.
“There he is,” said Mrs Morrison, pointing to an officer engaged in
reading a letter by the fire.
Maggie repeated Hemlock’s message. Macdonell listened with sparkling
eyes, and when she had done said, “Thank you, my bonnie lass, you have
done the King a service, and when the Yankees come they will find us
ready to gie their lang nebs a smell o’ oor claymores.”
Hastening out, he gave his orders in quick succession, and with
surprising alacrity for a volunteer force, the men fell in. Two
companies were soon complete. “Now, Captain Bruyére, if your men do as
well as you will yourself all will be well; and for you, Captain Daly,
I know by long experience what a loyal Irishman is. Hold your ground
until I get up to you with the other companies.”
The men quietly descended the bank and plunged into the river, which
took them nearly to the middle, for owing to the recent rains it was
deep. Gaining the opposite bank, they were swallowed up in the woods.
Gazing over the tree-tops, which looked peaceful in the calm of a dull,
moist, autumnal day, Maggie wondered what was going on beneath their
cover--wished she could see the advancing Americans and the men who
had just gone to meet them. There was an interval of suspense. Then,
suddenly, there was a sharp volley and the quiet air became filled
with shouts, and yells, and cries of frightened men. All at once there
burst from the bush on to the river bank, a good way up, a string of
habitants, flying in terror, their blue tuques streaming behind them,
and few of them having muskets, for they had thrown them away to aid
their flight. “The cowardly loons,” muttered Macdonell, “it would serve
them right to give them a taste of shot.” On reaching the ford, they
tumultuously dashed in. As the foremost came up the bank the Colonel
demanded an explanation. They had been surprised by the unexpected
appearance of a great host of Americans and ran to save themselves.
Attention, however, was now attracted from the fugitives by the
recommencement of the firing, which was sharp and continuous, relieved
by the yells and whoops of the Indians.
“Hasten!” shouted Macdonell to the troops who were lining up, “do you
not hear the firing? Our comrades need us.”
The head of the column had reached the water’s edge, when there was
a burst of cheering. “That’s our lads,” said the Colonel, “they must
have won the day. Halt! We will not seek to share the credit of their
victory.” In a few minutes a body of the Fencibles reappeared, with
several prisoners and bearing a few wounded men. Their report was that
they had encountered the advance guard of the American brigade, which,
although elated at the rout of the outpost of habitants, fled at the
first fire. The Colonel ordered the men to retire and wait behind the
breastworks that commanded the ford. “It is not likely,” he remarked
to his adjutant, “that the Americans will now attack us, seeing their
design to surprise us has miscarried.” Half an hour later, Hemlock
arrived with his braves, at whose girdles hung several fresh scalps.
He told Macdonell that the Americans had given up their intention of
gaining the ford and had gone into camp nearly two miles above, in a
grove beside the river. Seeing how slight was the prospect of more
fighting on that side of the river, he was going to join the main-body.
On hearing this reassuring news, Maggie slipped away to her canoe and
paddled homewards.
On coming in sight of the shanty she was amazed and alarmed by the
change that had taken place in her short absence. American soldiers
were clustered around it, and a few horses picketed. Fearing the
worst, she drew near. Seated by the fire were several officers warming
themselves and drying their clothes, and with whom her mother was in
altercation.
“Come to free us, say ye? What wad ye free us frae?”
“From the tyranny of European monarchy,” answered an officer with a
smile.
“It maun be a licht yoke that we never felt. Mak us free, dootless,
like that blackamoor servant that’s cooking yer breakfast.”
“Waal, no,” said another officer, “yer a furriner, ye know, but yer
white.”
“A foreigner!” exclaimed Mrs Forsyth, “hae I lived to be ca’ed in my
ain house, a foreigner! I belang to nae sic trash. Manners maun be
scarce whaur you come frae, my man.”
“That’s all right, old woman; the old man will understand how it is. We
have come to make you independent.”
“Auld man! Auld woman! God forgie you for haein’ nae respeck for grey
hairs. My guid man, sir, taks nae stock in ye or your fine words. Nicht
and mornin’ does he pray for King George an’ that his throne may be
preserved. You’re a set o’ land-loupers, wha hae nae business here an’
its my howp afore nicht you may be fleein’ back to whaur ye cam frae.”
“Canada folk are not all like you.”
“Ay, that they are. There’s no an’ Auld Country family from here to the
Basin that winna gie you the back o’ their hand, an’ no ane that wadna
suner lose a’ than come unner yer rule.”
Afraid that further controversy might result unpleasantly, Maggie left
her attitude of listening outside the door and entered. One or two of
the younger officers rose and bowed; the others stared.
“Oh, Maggie, I wish you had stayed where you were,” said her mother,
“you have come into the lion’s den, for your father is no maister here.”
“I am sure, mother, these gentlemen will not harm us.”
“Not at all,” interrupted one of the strangers, “and in a few hours we
will leave you alone again.”
“The sicht o’ your backs will be maist welcome,” remarked Mrs Forsyth.
“Where is father?”
“Helpin’ thae Yankees to get a haud o’ his ain property. They took him
oot to get fodder for their horses.”
There was a bustle outside and presently two soldiers carried in a
young lad, in lieutenant’s uniform, whose white face told that he had
been wounded. They were about to lay him down in front of the fire,
when Mrs Forsyth darted forward: “No, na; dinna pit the puir chiel on
the floor; tak him to my ain bed,” and she helped to place him there.
Two surgeons took off his coat and shirt, when the wound appeared; a
bullet had gone through the fleshy part beneath the arm-pit, causing
some loss of blood without doing serious injury. When the surgeons
said he would recover, Mrs Forsyth’s face beamed and she bustled
about to get the requisites needed to clean and dress the wound,
while, under her orders, Maggie made gruel to revive his strength.
While thus engaged, officers came and went, and the house was never
without several of them. There came a tall, square-built man, whose
shoulder-straps indicated high rank, and his quiet, resolute face one
accustomed to command. He advanced to the bed where the wounded lad
lay, asked a few questions, and spoke encouragingly to the sufferer.
“It is too bad that Dingley, of all our corps, should have had this
luck,” remarked an officer.
“Yes, and to no purpose. I fear the miscarriage of our plan to surprise
the ford will lead to the abandonment of the purpose to capture
Montreal.”
“There is not a man in the army that does not wish we were in
winter-quarters. To fight in such a country at this season is more than
flesh and blood can stand.”
“Yet to go back will disgrace us,” said the superior officer, who
withdrew.
“Who is that?” asked Maggie of one of the surgeons.
“That is Col. Purdy, and if he had been in command we would not have
spent all summer doing nothing and come here in the end of October.”
“Yet he failed in capturing the ford,” remarked Maggie, with a sparkle
in her eye.
“He could not help the weather and the dark night that kept us standing
in the woods until daybreak. After all, we would have surprised the
guard and taken the ford had it not been for somebody, perhaps a
traitor among ourselves, who carried word of our coming.”
“Maybe,” said Maggie demurely, “but you did not get the ford and what
can you do now?”
“Nothing, I am afraid. The failure of our brigade to carry the key of
the enemy’s position may cause the General to give up the enterprise.”